


Experimental

by twyly56



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Affectionate Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland Friendship, And yes Jonathan Does Murder Valentine, Background Jocelyn Fairchild/Luke Garroway, Bad Parent Valentine Morgenstern, Chair Bondage, Child Neglect, Crying, Good Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac, Gore, He's not evil, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jace Wayland Feels, Jace Wayland Plays the Piano, Jonathan Calls Jace "Little Brother", Jonathan is Chained to a Chair For Months, Meeting Again, New York Shadowhunter Institute, POV Alternating, Parabatai, Patricide, Piano, Revenge, Torture, Training, Unethical Experimentation, Valentine Stop Messing Up Your "Kids", Worried Jace Wayland, he's just angry, protective jonathan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: Jace goes into the basement, one the places Father had said never to go into. A boy is tied up down there. Jace frees him, and the boy thanks him profusely before disappearing, with the promise to return. Why is Father so upset? A few years after Jace is sent to the New York Institute, a teenager that looks suspiciously familiar to him shows up and tosses Valentine's head on the floor in the middle of the lobby.





	1. Chapter 1

**"Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime."**

-Herbert Ward

The black and white keys of the piano move fast under the bruised, talented fingers of the boy. His little brother, the boy who was called the wrong name by Father, was definitely a virtuoso. The hauntingly beautiful tune drifted to Jonathan's ears, and tears of frustration welled up up in his eyes. He tugged futilely at the heavy chains holding his forearms and wrists to the arms of the chair. His calves were bound similarly, preventing him from trying to kick the chair over and attempt to crawl away. The skin of his wrists were rubbed raw, red and weeping. Jonathan's muscles ached so badly from staying in a sitting position for so long. He wasn't even sure how long he had been down here.

He used to be able to play the piano under Father's strict gaze. The one in the room just above the basement. If he got a note wrong, Father would slap his wrist. The flat stick smarted against his skin. Father would tell him to do it again from the beginning. He had never quite gotten the hang of it. Still, he preferred it to some of the other things Father wanted him to learn. Jonathan enjoyed the calm that settled over him when he played. His mind would clear, and his hands would move like they had a mind of their own. They did the same thing when Father put a blade in his hands and showed him the most vulnerable parts of the body. It made his stomach ache, but he went mostly numb during the process.

He was desensitized to blood. That was actually why Jonathan hadn't freaked out when that boy visiting from the Institute in Idris fell off the bridge when he startled him. He had just wanted to talk to him or try to. He was just curious. No one ever talked to him. Especially no one his age. He hadn't meant to make him jump over the edge of the bridge. His blood, a brighter red than he had expected, pooled around his split open skull, spreading across the uneven ground like Father's spaghetti sauce. Father had been so angry. Jonathan didn't understand. It was an accident. He was _sorry._  So sorry. 

The only thing that gave him a reprieve from his thoughts in this dark, empty room was his little brother's music. If he ever stopped playing the piano for a day, Jonathan reckoned he would just go insane. Father only ever came down to give him food and water three times a day. He never spoke. He never listened to Jonathan's begging, his pleads. His hoarse apologies. No one else ever came into the basement. The door was always locked from the outside. It was always so very dark in the basement. 

 

Jace brought the bird to his father, to show him that it would come back to him. He thought his father would be proud. His father took the falcon and snapped its neck. The boy was devastated. But he realized his father was right. He was told to tame the bird. Not to love it. When his father snapped the falcon's neck, right next to the boy’s ear, Jace felt nothing at first. Father caressed his cheek in the same movement with a calloused palm as a single tear slid down his cheek. Jace barely registered it being swiped off by his father's thumb. The boy felt as if all the bones his father had broken had burst open again, oozing blood on the floor, pooling at his legs. Jace stared blankly at the dead bird, held loosely in his father's hands. 

"I love you, son. And to love is to destroy," Father told him. 

"Yes, Father," was all he could say in response. His father smiled. 

 

The door creaked as it slowly opened, and Jonathan squinted, wincing as light filtered into his eyes. His pupils contracted again. A boy slightly younger than him with neat blonde hair and multicolored eyes, one blue, one brown, peered inside. Jonathan's chains rattled against the wooden surface of his chair as he leaned forward quickly. The other boy's eyes widened at the sight of him. He looked shocked. 

"Help me! Please! Jace... you're Jace, right?" Jonathan said. The younger boy stepped toward him, and his heart thudded in his chest. _Yes. Hurry, hurry, hurry._

"Yeah. By the Angel, what happened to you? Who did this?" Jace asked. He came closer to his chair, and Jonathan vainly tugged at his restraints again. 

"Hurry, _hurry._ Before he comes back," Jonathan said. 

Jace grabbed the chains with his hands, and he turned them around, pulling a little at the lock. The other boy slipped a stele out of his pocket and drew a quick Unlocking rune. It glowed golden, shimmering as it settled over the lock. The lock popped open with a click, and Jace unwrapped the chains from his arms. He moved onto the ones on his legs. Jonathan shook his arms out with a discomforted hiss, wincing as the raw skin on his wrists tore a little further. As soon as the chains from his legs were off, he tried to stand up, but his legs were too shaky. He grabbed onto the arm of the chair to steady himself. 

"Hold on. Let me heal you," Jace offered. 

"Thank you," Jonathan said. 

He held out his arm to the other boy, and Jace drew Healing runes on his wrists. He also drew an Energy Replenishing rune. Jonathan sighed as the tension bled out of his sore body, and he could stand without his joints aching from disuse. The skin on his wrists stopped weeping, stopped being raw. Jonathan glanced up as Jace offered him his hand. 

"What's your name? I'll get you something to eat," the other boy said. 

"I'm - I'm Jonathan," Jonathan replied. "And..." He shut his green eyes. "Yes. Food would be lovely." 

 

Jace came back into the dining room with a plate of peanut butter sandwiches to find the boy gone. A single scrap of paper was left on the table. Jace set down the plate, and he opened the folded parchment. Words were scrawled in messy cursive, like he had been in a haste to finish. He was a bit confused by the wording. 

**'Thank you, Jace. I don't know what I would have done without you. I wish you the best of luck, and I will see you soon, little brother.'**

There was no signature, but Jace had no doubt who had written it. The boy jumped slightly when he heard the door in the basement slam shut. His father's blue eyes were wild and angry. There was a set of pinkish marks on his face, almost like someone had scratched him. He grabbed Jace by the front of his shirt and dragged him close to his face. 

"What have you done, Jace?!" Father demanded. 

"He was injured and chained down there, Father. I had to help him," Jace told him. "I - I just heard him screaming. Or else... I wouldn't have gone in there, I swear!" 

"You fool!" his father hissed. Jace's head snapped to the side abruptly, and his face stung, reddening from the sharp slap. Father shook him. "You don't even know what you've done!" 

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," Jace stuttered out. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan pushed open the door to the quaint little bookshop, and the bell above the entrance tinkled as he stepped inside. A fairly normal looking man, late twenties to early thirties, tanned skin, black hair, neatly trimmed goatee, stood by a cart full of books, carefully reshelving them back in place. If Jonathan couldn't sense the subtle buzz of his magic, he would have thought the man was just a normal storekeeper. The warlock turned to him, pausing in his shelving. His slim glasses glinted in the yellow light of the lights overhead. Jonathan gave him a friendly smile and walked forward. 

"Hello," the warlock greeted him. "How can I help you today?" 

Jonathan made a little hmm and glanced around the store. He rather liked the smell it had, a mixture of something herbal and perhaps sandalwood, and the cozy feel it gave off. He might come back here later actually. But first things first. He had business to attend to. 

"It's a fabulous shop you have here," Jonathan said. He made sure to enunciate his words clearly because he had found that some Americans had trouble understanding his accent for some reason.

The warlock smiled politely and walked towards him. 

"Why thank you," he replied. He rested his hands on his hips. "It's been my life's work." 

Jonathan picked up a book from one of the display tables and flipped it open to a random page. He skimmed through the tightly compacted words before closing it and setting the book down again. 

"Absolutely fascinating," Jonathan said softly. He took a step forward and held out his hand to the warlock. He smiled warmly. "I'm Sebastian Verlac. It has been a pleasure to meet you." 

The warlock accepted his hand and shook it firmly. 

"Elliott Norse. Is there anything in particular that I can help you find?" he asked. 

"Ah, yes. As a matter of fact, there is," Jonathan said. "Do you have any books in Chthonian?" 

The warlock blinked, surprise flickering across his face for a few seconds. He looked at Jonathan again. 

"Chthonian? You're a warlock?" Elliott asked. He shook his head. "I apologize. I just can usually tell." 

"It's alright," Jonathan murmured. 

"What kind of book do you want?" Elliott asked him. 

"One on wards," Jonathan replied. "Perhaps binding spells if you have it in stock." 

The warlock's eyebrows pinched together as he thought. He waved a hand for Jonathan to follow him. 

"I think I have some in the back. One moment please," Elliott said. 

"Of course," Jonathan responded. 

The warlock walked into a smaller room in the back of the shop, and Jonathan waited patiently by the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. Elliott came back with a few books stacked on top of each other in his arms. He held them out to Jonathan. The demon blooded teen grabbed the books. 

"Here you are, Sebastian. Take a look at these. If you see something you want, just let me know. I'll ring them up for you," Elliott said. 

"Thank you, Mr. Norse," Jonathan replied. The warlock smiled and waved his hand dismissively. 

"Just Elliot is fine," he said. 

"My apologies. Elliott," Jonathan responded, ever so polite. One could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. 

The warlock nodded and walked back to his book cart. He resumed his shelving. Jonathan set the books down a nearby table and sat down in the chair beside. He flipped open the first one. The teen paused as a thought entered his mind. He glanced at the warlock. 

"Um, excuse me, Elliott. I had a question," Jonathan said. 

"Yes?" Elliott replied. 

"Is there by any chance an Institute in this city?" Jonathan asked. 

"For the Shadowhunters? In New York? Yeah. There is," Elliott responded. "Why?" 

"I was simply curious," Jonathan murmured. "Thank you." He smiled slightly to himself. He looked back down at the book in front of him. 

 

Shivering slightly in the late autumn air, Jonathan set off down the sidewalk, intent on getting back to his motel room before the rain got any worse. The soaked red, orange, and yellow leaves stuck to the bottoms of his boots as he walked down the empty sidewalk, and a harsh wind blew his messy blonde hair in all directions. Jonathan kept his eyes on the sidewalk to avoid looking straight ahead at the wind that stung his eyes. It wasn't painful, but it was irritating. 

His ears pricked as he registered footsteps crunching in the damp leaves behind him. His lips tilted up slightly. The teen turned his head and met the dark brown eyes of the older man with his own murky green. The man lunged at him, clamping down on the back of his neck with a gloved hand. He let him drag him into the nearest alley and slam him chestfirst into the brick wall. Jonathan struggled appropriately, acting scared. 

"He-hey! What are you doing? I don't have any money, man!" he said, putting on a Boston accent. 

"What did you do to my family, you little bastard?!" the man spat. 

The teen went still. Jonathan smirked, unfazed by the hand on the back of his neck. He tilted his head back and stomped his foot down hard on the older man's toes. The man's grip loosened as he let out a cry of pain. The teen thrust his elbow into his gut, inciting a hoarse grunt. Jonathan spun around and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, shoving him against the wall. He leaned forward, letting his breath ghost over the man's face. The older man's eyes were wide. He dropped the fake accent. 

"I have done nothing so far to your wife and daughter, Emil. But know this. If you do not do exactly as I say, they both will die. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Jonathan said. 

"Wh-what do you want?" Emil asked. 

"I want you to direct Valentine's portal to exactly where I tell you to," Jonathan said. 

"What? I c-can't do that. He'll kill me if I do that," Emil sputtered. 

"Well, it is your choice, really," Jonathan replied, tone utterly neutral and nonchalant. Like he was offering him any other option. "You can not do as I want, and protect your leader. Poor Amanda and Maria will die, but you will live." Emil's breath hitched. "Or... you can help me out, and deliver Valentine Morgenstern to the location of my choice. You might die if anyone were to find out, yes, but your wife and daughter would not be harmed. So tell me. What matters more to you? Your life or theirs?" 

"I'll - I'll do it! Just don't hurt them! Please. I'll do whatever you want," Emil begged. 

"Swear it on the Angel," Jonathan ordered. 

"I swear I will help you and do exactly as you say by the Angel," Emil said. 

"Good boy. Now that was not so hard, was it?" Jonathan murmured. He released the man's lapels, and he stepped back. The teen slipped a folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket. "Read that later and memorize the coordinates. Burn it afterward." 

"Yes," Emil said quickly. 

"Remember, Emil. If you try anything, tell anyone, or screw with me in any way at all, you will _never_ see your family again," the teen told him. 

Jonathan flipped his hood over his head, dragging it over his damp hair and down to nearly cover his eyes, and he turned out of the alley. He continued on his way down the wet sidewalk. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan watched the entrance to the room with unblinking eyes. His hands were clasped behind his back, his demon metal-tipped whip coiled around his left wrist. The room was deathly silent as he waited. There was a whirring sound, and a multicolored whirl of light appeared. Two men walked through, one with his hand on the other's shoulder. The balding man shook off Emil's hand from his shoulder, and the portal disappeared from behind them. Emil nervously glanced at Jonathan. His father's eyes landed on him, but there was no immediate recognition. The Circle leader looked angry, quickly piecing together what was going on .  

"Wow. I never expected this of you, Emil. You betray me now, after all these years of service? This is how you repay us?" Valentine asked.

His father's hand went to his side to grab his blade, but Jonathan's reaction was quicker. He unfurled his whip from behind his back and snapped it out, coiling it tight around his father's wrist. His skin reddened from where the whip wrapped around it, irritated by both the impact and the demonic metal. Valentine grunted as he was tugged forward slightly by the tight hold the teen had on the whip. His father went still for a moment, clearly calculating his next move, blue eyes narrowed. Emil looked between them for a moment, obviously uncomfortable, but still he walked up to Jonathan, careful to stand away from his former leader. 

"I did as you asked. I brought Valentine here. Now please... let my family go," Emil said. 

The teen gave him a small smile and took a step toward him. He placed his hand on the older man's face, staring intently into his eyes. 

"Thank you, Emil. You did uphold your end of the bargain," Jonathan murmured. He patted the man's cheek. "Your family is safe and unharmed as I promised. Fear not." 

"Thank you," Emil breathed in relief. 

"You should not thank me just yet," Jonathan said. He gestured to the door with his free hand. "I suggest you take your leave of this place before I change my mind and make certain you remain on these grounds for the rest of your short life." The threat in his voice was not subtle. 

The man nodded, and he darted over to the metal stairs. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang. Jonathan flicked his green eyes to his father, who stared back at him defiantly. The teen's face remained blank. He yanked hard at the whip with a flick of his wrist, tugging his father toward him. Valentine swung at him, and his head snapped to the side. Jonathan pulled his whip off of his wrist and snapped it at his father's neck. It wrapped around Valentine's throat with a sharp smack of flesh, and his father's breath cut off as he jerked him forward again. Jonathan let go of the whip long enough to counter his father's next blows and gripped his shoulders, flinging him to the cement floor.

The teen jumped on top of Valentine, straddling his waist and quickly pulling his hands behind his back. His father was struggling very much, but Jonathan ignored him. He snapped the enchanted handcuffs around his wrists. Valentine's growl cut off when he gripped the handle of his whip and yanked his head back. The pressure on his throat made it hard to breathe properly. The teen slowly climbed off of him and pulled the older man to his feet, standing behind him, keeping his head back firmly. Jonathan turned his own head to the side to spit out the blood that had pooled there from his father's first blow. It splatted on the floor, deep red against dark grey. 

"What do you want from me?" Valentine ground out. 

"You will find out soon enough... Father," Jonathan replied quietly. 

His father went stiff in his hold, his strangled breath stopping entirely for a moment. His voice came out even quieter in disbelief. 

"Jonathan?" Valentine said. "Is that you?" 

"Start walking, Father, and do not speak. We still have a little bit to go before we can 'catch up'," Jonathan hissed softly. 

He pushed his father forward toward the door. He yanked it open with his free hand. The teen shoved Valentine into the adjoining room, kicking the door shut with his foot. He unwound the whip from his father's throat and flicked it across the older man's shoulder blades. Valentine let out a hiss of pain. Jonathan remembered rather vividly making the same noise himself when his father had lashed his back. What had he called it?

Oh, yes. 

_'The perils of obedience'._

The teen ran his hand over the forming welt, listening to the sharp intake of breath, and he made a little detached hmm. He dug his blunt nails into the shirt covered muscle of Valentine's shoulder. The older man's cheek twitched, betraying his discomfort. 

"I guess it's true what they say. You can never go back home," Jonathan remarked idly. He pushed his father toward the chair in the corner of the room none too gently. He pressed down on his shoulder with his hand. "Sit." 

"Why bring me back here?" Valentine asked, still playing calm.

He almost taste the older man's unease. The teen undid his handcuffs and readjusted his father's hands in front of his torso. Jonathan wrapped the familiar heavy chains laying on the floor around his father's forearms and wrists, binding them together tightly. He then secured his calves to the legs of the chair as well. The metal clanked against the cement floor as they shifted into place. His father stared at him. 

"Because I realized the thing that I was missing was _you,_ " the teen replied. He lifted his hands up and placed the palms down on his father's thighs. "You made me what I am, Father. Everything you did to me created this." Jonathan stared deeply into the older man's blue eyes. His father's Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed. Jonathan pushed himself to his feet and stood back. His eyes flashed black for a short moment in his anger. He clicked the bare single bulb on, letting a pale yellow light wash over the two of them. A cold smile curled his lips. His voice came out hard with barely repressed rage. "Now it is my turn to return the favor." 


End file.
